


Vanilla

by DancingGrimm



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, First Time, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-26
Updated: 2012-04-26
Packaged: 2017-11-04 08:56:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancingGrimm/pseuds/DancingGrimm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco worries about his libido. Harry takes it all in stride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vanilla

**Author's Note:**

> So, ages ago I posted this at the Restricted Section under the name Lyttlelucyfer and was very pleased with it. A lot of people sent me really nice comments and what not and I even started writing a sequel. Then a couple of people took to sending me nasty emails, and as I was already having trouble with depression and work stuff and a few other things, I decided to write the whole fan-fiction thing off and give up.   
> Well, now I'm back, mainly thanks to Benedict Cumberbatch and his swooniness, and thought I'd try and wipe away the bad feelings this story left me with by posting it here.   
> I wrote it right before The Half Blood Prince came out, so it kind of branches from canon but not deliberately.  
> Enjoy :)

Vanilla

 

“…so fucking vanilla.” Draco heard, and his attention snapped back to the common room, from wherever it had been, in time to see Pansy’s sneer being directed across the room at Blaise’s back. He had seen that look a thousand times, it felt like, and it never got any more endearing. 

Blaise. Her ex boyfriend now, it would seem. And ‘vanilla’. Not a word he has really considered outside of being a potion ingredient, or a flavour of ice cream. But he had some clue of what she meant by it, and was pleased he never gave her reason to direct it at him. 

When they were together, for however brief a time it was, he did what she wanted. She was his first, and he liked the idea of being guided without her knowing that she was, well, taking his virginity. Not giving her any ammunition, because the sneer, though childish, was decidedly unpleasant. 

So he had had sex with Pansy, or rather, not fought when she climbed on top of him and sat on his cock, wiggling around and squeaking, and then subtly and kindly broken up with her when it became clear that she wanted more in the way of…adventure. Had she been referring to something cerebral or geographical even, he would have had no problem. But she meant sexual adventure, and that meant getting found out. About the fact that he wasn’t half as savvy as everyone thought he was.

If she had known, he would have been on the receiving end of that sneer, and the vanilla comment. Though, he thought, perhaps the latter would have been justified, as he hadn’t ever really done anything…kinky. Was that the word? A word as good as any, he supposed. He had never had any real sexual experience with anyone but Pansy (though some of those snogging sessions with Marcus when they’d met up in the Easter holiday of Draco’s sixth year had come close to qualifying) and that hadn’t been, in any way, outside the realm of normal. Vanilla.

But just because he’d never done it, didn’t mean he hadn’t thought about it. 

A great deal.

As often as possible, in fact. Like he’d been doing right there in the common room, before Pansy had snapped him out of it with her comment.

But it wasn’t his possible ‘kinkiness’ that concerned him, although that was a concern. It was who it was aimed at. It really wouldn’t do to be attracted to somebody that well known, particularly while they were still in school. Though the latter had become a minor concern of late, as they were all progressing well in their final year and their remedial classes, which were updating them after they had spent so much time fighting for their lives the previous term. And the former was gradually becoming less of an issue recently too, as Draco had learned from his head of house that he had become a ‘celebrity orphan’, as Snape had put it. So, not much of a concern there. But still, it…rankled.

Because, between his rather odd kinks and his lack of experience, he wouldn’t stand a chance. 

 

Draco remembered, with the peculiar mental clarity possessed necessarily by all spies, the final battle. Or rather, as the newspapers would have it, The Final Battle. Actually, if he were honest, he managed to miss a fair bit of it due to a rather long bout of Lucius-induced unconsciousness, followed by a great deal of rushing around and being yelled at by Auror Shacklebolt, which was enough to make anyone miss the little things. But he remembered one detail perfectly.

Amid flying curses and hexes, screamed spells and roared oaths, the dead dropping like rocks to the ground and the living desperately trying to keep their footing in the growing mess of corpses and blood, Harry Potter, faced with an armed and angry Death Eater, had done what no one had expected him to do.

He’d socked him in the mouth. And Draco dearly wanted to find out who had taught the boy how to throw a punch and send them chocolates, because it was perfect. He had watched the swing (left hand, the back of it towards him, fist tightly clenched and slim, tough arm muscles tensed and taught), heard the magnificent crunch as it connected (the bones and tendons in the back of the hand flexing slightly on impact) and seen Harry react after the enemy had dropped, flexing his fingers, making the almost-shiny skin on the back of his hand tighten again and again in a perfect tease. 

And yes, it had done the job well, but Draco knew that functionality and beauty were not mutually exclusive, and if he hadn’t known it, that punch would have proved it to him. God, those hands…

And that’s where he was experiencing problems. Because he was fairly sure he had a…thing. About Harry Potter’s hands, of all things.

He thought about them a lot, in terms of both functionality and beauty. The tension of strong sinew, the light touch of fingertips, the practiced perfection of the grip on his wand, the delicate waft of his fingers through the air as he gestured. It was gorgeous. 

He was not going to kid himself, however, that he would ever be touched by those beautiful hands in the way he wanted. Because, if Harry Potter found out that a Malfoy had a hard on for his bloody hands, he would run a mile.

Life was not particularly fair, even on celebrity orphans.

 

 

Because of the frustration that his guilty little fixation caused, Draco had managed to keep his reputation of being a bit of a brat, even though he wasn’t really trying any more. He was glad of the diminished numbers of Slytherin students, to his surprise, because it meant that he got his own room, and he could slam the door without running the risk of upsetting his dorm-mates. He’d been slamming it so much this term, he thought it may need to be replaced.

It was this frustrated misbehaviour that led to him actually getting in trouble with Professor Snape, for the first time in his life. The silly thing was, he really hadn’t intended to make that gesture at anyone, even the Weasel, because he knew what it meant all too well. It had just happened. And the Professor had asked him, in those dangerous, cold tones, to apologise.

It had been half-hearted at best. At worst, probably inaudible. And he had refused to repeat himself just because the Weasel had failed to hear him. The Professor had heard him, and that was good enough for them both. It wasn’t, however, good enough for Potter.

Draco had tarried after class, making a fuss of removing a number of objects from his bag in order to get the large NEWTS potions book in it, and then put it all back in, in order to gain the privacy to apologise properly to Professor Snape. Snape had accepted the apology as gracefully as ever, and solemnly informed Draco that he’d better sort out ‘whatever it was’ before he got in trouble.

And Draco, in all innocence, had left the classroom.

One would think one would remain safe doing such a simple thing, in such a school.

But no. Less than two steps outside the potions room, and his back was squashed against the stone wall, a heavy pressure against his ribs making him yelp and lose his breath in a loud rush. He heard the creak of the door inside the classroom that meant Snape had returned to his private quarters, meaning that he could expect no rescue there, and had turned to look at his attacker (expecting the Weasel, or maybe even Granger, who had really come into her own during combat) and was faced with Potter.

Harry Potter.

Who had those hands pressed against Draco’s ribs, holding him in place.

“Now listen,” Potter ground out, and Draco lost his breath all over again, as he heard the tension in that voice. “I am bloody sick of the way you treat Ron. He’s a decent man, and on your side, and the sooner you come to terms with that the safer you are, you understand?”

Draco was very aware of Harry’s size. He himself was taller, certainly. But Harry had put on muscle and gained a breadth in his shoulders and chest that made him look like a bludger would bounce right off him. It wasn’t hard to be intimidated by him, especially if you’d seen the things he’d done in battle.

But Harry wasn’t just threatening him. He was touching him. With the hands. Draco was in a quandary. At a loss, he simply nodded, knowing that he was too wide eyed, too shaky, for anything justifiable by Potter’s threats.

And then the hands moved. Potter was still staring steadily into Draco’s eyes, while the warm, heavy pressure of his hands slid down, off the ends of Draco's ribs, and onto the soft flesh of his stomach. The weather had been unseasonably warm recently, and Draco wore his robes open with only a shirt on underneath, so he could feel every contour of Harry’s palms and fingers through the cotton, the fabric warming in the wake of the slow moving touch.

Harry’s eyes were looking a little less angry now. They seemed more intense than anything, and Draco tried desperately to push down the surge of arousal that rushed through his body, because he had a feeling it would get him into terrible trouble. 

Then the hands slid back up his chest, and slipped around to rest on his sides, a few inches under his armpits, and he stopped worrying about getting in trouble, because this was better by miles than Pansy’s wiggling and squeaking and his nipples were hard and he could barely breathe. 

He was pathetic. 

But the hands, the hands were travelling again, the fingers spreading out as the palms tracked down his sides, pressing hard into the skinny, sinewy muscle of his flanks, and onto his bony hips, resting there, then tightening, resting and tightening. Draco had no idea what to do, and he wanted desperately to not be standing against a wall in the dungeon, being rubbed by Harry Potter. Even with the hands.

Then it escalated. Harry squeezed again and, at the same time, tugged gently, and Draco’s hips shot forward, without any prompt from his brain. And he was supposed to be in control of things like that, because he was a spy and all, but then he really wasn’t a spy anymore, was he. And he was allowed not to be in perfect control sometimes.

Like when those hands were gently rocking his hips back and forth, little loose arcs, so gentle that the rest of his body hardly moved at all, and Harry wasn’t touching him anywhere else, but it was so hugely good that Draco couldn’t stop a rather tragic little sound from escaping his mouth.

That made Harry smile, a subtle little shift of his lips that told so little while changing his face so much. And then the hands were gone, and Draco was slumped on the corridor floor, half on top of his school bag, wondering if he could actually get to his feet without hurting himself, considering the solidity and sensitivity of the erection he was now sporting.

Harry’s steps sounded light, as he walked away.

 

Draco thought about that odd little smile a lot. He, (ahem), thought about it in bed, at night and in the morning. He thought about it while he was in the shower, and while he was in his room, supposedly doing homework. It really wasn’t helping any.

He thought that maybe he was developing a…thing, another one in fact, about Harry Potter’s mouth. It wasn’t a spectacular mouth or anything. Rather ordinary in fact. The lips fairly full, but not so much that it would be noted. Smooth looking, in the right light. Pleasant when he smiled, equally so when he was concentrating on something, that strange half-scowl he adopted. 

They were, however, a particularly nice colour. A soft, sugary pink. But Draco really had to stop himself thinking about that, because it inevitably led to imagining what that shade would look like in contrast to his own snowy-pale skin, and he became…distracted. 

Also, it led to other things, which weren’t just distracting, they were intriguing. 

The sweat.

A rather unpleasant thing to get…excited about, certainly, but Draco was beginning to get the impression that Potter’s purpose in life wasn’t so much to defeat Voldemort, as to break through Draco’s concepts of his own sexuality.

Because the sweat above Potter’s lip when he had been flying for a long time, out in the mild, early spring sun, wrapped in the layers of a Quidditch uniform, looked positively delicious.

In a very literal way.

It had been at the game last Saturday, a simple friendly, played more for the entertainment of the players than for any points or spectators. Draco had been sitting in the stands and Harry had swept past, in hot pursuit, and the little glistening strip of sweat above his lip, in the little furrow under his nose, was imprinted in Draco’s mind instantly, without conscious thought. 

He thought about it a lot. It was dreadful. The last thing he needed was another damned kink.

 

It was the Tuesday after the match that things really began to get out of hand. Or at least, out of Draco’s hands.

He had been studying in the library until quite a late hour. Not past curfew or anything, but late enough that he was the only one aside from Madame Pince in the library, and she had started to alternate glances at her watch with dirty looks in his direction.

So he had packed away his notes, checked out a few books that he wasn’t done with yet, and headed off to finish his studies in peace. Sad, yes. But at least he wasn’t thinking about Potter’s hands. Or his mouth. Or anything else.

It was when he was walking through one of the quietest parts of the castle, the corridor that contained the charms classroom and several abandoned store rooms, the kind of place that caused people to make an effort to walk softly by dint of sheer atmosphere, that he was ambushed. Very gently, and not really maliciously, but ambushed all the same.

Harry Potter stepped out of the shadows and glared at him.

“What are you doing out here at this time of night?” He asked, his head boy badge glinting on his chest (because really, saving the world wasn’t enough of an achievement for one lifetime).

“I’m going back to my dormitory. I was in the library.” Draco made a show of checking his watch. “I'm not out after curfew. What’s the problem?”

He had tried for his usual derisive tones, but the look on Harry’s face told him he had failed. Or perhaps it was telling him something else. Because that gleeful expression, that slightly hard look in the green eyes, was terribly…interesting.

And then, once again, Draco’s back was pressed against the wall, his bag fell to the ground with an echoing thump, and Harry was right there. The hands were back on him, and Draco, despite himself, was desperately hoping that this time they’d do something more than just wander up and down his rib cage.

But then, he really didn’t care about the hands any more. Because there were lips involved. Soft as flower petals, warm and smooth, pressing lightly against his own, shifting slightly, in a way he couldn’t quantify through touch alone, squashing and soothing, and it felt heavenly.

The hands were settled on his waist, fingertips pressing slightly into his flesh, holding him firmly against the wall as he was softly, sweetly kissed. Then Harry’s mouth opened and his tongue swept slowly along Draco’s lower lip, and that was it for soft and sweet. 

Draco gasped and opened his own mouth, and Harry’s tongue was inside in an instant, stroking and sliding and plunging, until Draco had to grab onto the wall behind him to keep his feet. And then the hands slid around to the small of his back, and he gave it up and grabbed onto Harry’s shoulders. 

He was sure that the wet sounds their kiss was making would alert Filch, or even worse, the other prefects to their whereabouts, but it seemed that the Gods, or whatever, were looking kindly on them, because nobody bothered them for all the long minutes they stood there kissing.

It was nearly too much. After all that thinking and dreaming and, well, okay, fantasising about such things, Draco really couldn’t cope. His legs began to buckle and Harry was absolutely no help, simply holding him lightly about the waist as Draco sank to his backside on the floor, Harry breaking the kiss but keeping close, as he settled onto his knees in front of him.

Then the hands were gone from his waist, and Draco realised to his horror that his sprawled position made it very very clear that he was aroused, and surely he’d ruined it and Harry would go and tell all his little friends that Draco was a pervert. But then the hands were back, hooking under Draco’s knees and lifting them, shifting them, to either side of Harry’s waist, and Harry was leaning forward, sliding his own knees to either side of Draco’s arse, under his thighs. And then the lips came back.

Oh, the lips were very nice. Very nice indeed, and Draco dearly wanted to say something of that nature out loud, but that would mean losing the lips, so he decided against it.

Eventually, though he had no idea precisely how much later, Harry pulled away, and got to his feet, leaving Draco sitting on the floor with his legs stretched seemingly all over the corridor.

“You ought to get back to your dorm. Curfew, y’know?” he said softly, and though he couldn’t see properly through the shadows in the corridor, Draco got the impression he was smiling that little smile again.

“Yeah,” he replied, and by the time he struggled to his feet, Harry was gone. Knowing that the other prefects would be doing their rounds by that time, Draco debated whether he should take his chances on walking through the main corridors, testing his knowledge of the castle’s secret passages, or just running for it. Well, his current bamboozled condition ruled out the second, and his state of, ah, interest made running a rather unpleasant thought. So he walked it. And nobody bothered him.

 

 

That whole episode, though very pleasant, had made the whole issue all the more complicated. There really must be something wrong, Draco though to himself, because who on earth gets that excited about a kiss?

And he couldn’t stop thinking about it. And thinking inevitably led to…other things. He was getting to bed a lot earlier than usual, but that was possibly the only good thing.

He would just have to avoid seeing Potter too much, that was the only way. The only way to avoid him finding out that Draco wasn’t what so many people thought he was. And to avoid him freaking when he found out about all the…things. Kinks. Whatever.

So he (deep breath and get the word out) masturbated quite frequently, and was, to his astonishment, getting better at it. He had always thought there was only one standard to masturbating; you pulled it, you came, you went to sleep. But since getting his own room, Draco had found that privacy bred experimentation, at least in the case of wanking.

He had managed to get quite well acquainted with his balls, for a start. Who knew they could feel so nice? And after that milestone, he had begun to explore. The skin on his sides, in the small curve of his waist, was especially sensitive, as he should have realised after that first incident with Harry. The same for the insides of his thighs, particularly when treated with a very light touch. The soles of his feet were delightful, but touching them wasn’t exactly effective when wanking unless one wished to contort oneself quite dramatically.

But the one that surprised him most, both by being unexpected and by the depth of pleasure discovered at a single touch, was his nipples. Just a little squeeze or press on them, and he was away. He could get hard from it. He wondered if he could come from it.

The trouble was, this was another of those damn things, wasn’t it. Kinks, if you will. It wasn’t normal, and Draco knew this. In his many adolescent conversations with the boys in his house (before the majority of them were killed or imprisoned) had contained no references to nipples. He’d always thought that girls were the only ones to enjoy…that. Pansy had certainly enjoyed it, if her grabbing his hands and clutching them to her bosoms during sex had been any indicator.

It wasn’t like he was trying to be like everyone else. He was still a Malfoy, celebrity orphan or no, and thus a law unto himself. It was just a case of trying not to cultivate any habits that might scare off potential suitors. Or Harry.

Of course, thinking of Harry led to thinking of the kiss, which led to the need to masturbate. Which led to the desire to touch his nipples. So despite all the wanking, Draco was terribly frustrated.

 

He was glad of the match that Saturday, the better part of two weeks since the kiss (or, as Draco’s libido had it, The Kiss), as it not only took his mind off the whole problem, it also meant that he was staying out of Harry’s way on a day when most of the castle would be deserted. Let’s see Harry sneak up on him and…touch him while he was two hundred feet off the ground on a broom, he thought to himself.

He spent most of the match trying to resist the urge to see if Harry was in the stands, and so missed the snitch, which was caught by the other seeker only fifteen minutes into the game. Thus Slytherin, for the first time in history, lost a match with no points. They had had to scrape together a team from the few remaining members of the house, two of them having never ridden a broom outside of Madame Hooch’s lessons, and with Pansy of all people acting as keeper, so they really hadn’t had much of a chance anyway, but still. 

The Hufflepuffs. 

The winning team were looking absolutely bewildered, as if they didn’t know whether to celebrate their win, or ask for the results to be rechecked. Draco supposed that they really wouldn’t know what to do, having won so rarely. Well, bully to them.

Having not spotted Harry, he was in something of a quandary; was he upset or pleased? He really couldn’t tell, everything was so mixed up. He decided to get back to his dorm as quickly as possible, try to avoid unnecessary mingling with the Hufflepuffs, and bathe there. Maybe have a…think. Yes, a good plan.

Getting in to the Slytherin boys changing room, he was nearly knocked off his feet by Blaise, who was dragging what appeared to be a pair of jogging trousers on over his arms, while running out the door yelling Pansy’s name. Draco didn’t have time to glance and see if the love sick idiot was wearing his jacket as trousers. The only other boy in there (and on their team) was a nervous fourth year called Terrence, who was washing at the sink when Draco came in, and had finished dressing and was leaving by the time Draco had managed to get out of his rather revolting uniform.

He got completely undressed, enjoying the tickly feeling on his skin as his sweat dried in the mild room, and was eyeing the face cloth in his locker, pondering a quick wash, when he heard the external door creak open, and a muffled spell whispered. Slightly worried, he grabbed a clean pair of boxers and pulled them on, before seizing the rest of his clothes and ducking behind one of the shower partitions, from where he knew he would be able to see the internal door.

To his surprise, it was Harry who came in. The boy strolled casually into the centre of the room and assumed a posture of ‘waiting’, which was when Draco remembered the spell he’d heard and realised that Harry not only knew he was there, he knew he was alone.

Well, there was no way in Hell Draco was going to face Harry wearing nothing more than a pair of boxer shorts and a nervous twitch, so he dragged his cotton shirt on over his shoulders and went for his trousers, before realising that he was holding a sheepskin jacket. Blaise had been wearing Draco’s trousers, and managed to get his own trousers confused with his coat. 

Blaise was a complete bastard.

Draco was considering his next manoeuvre, when Harry yelled his name, and he dropped the jacket with a loud whump.

“I know you’re there, Draco. Just come out. I'm not going to hurt you.”

Feeling like one of his Mother’s bloody cats being coaxed out of a tree, Draco stepped out from behind the partition and prepared to face his fate. Which was smiling at him, that same relaxed, gleeful smile, which made Draco realise how noticeable it would be if he got excited while wearing those shorts.

Deciding to keep his distance, he walked over to the low bench in front of the lockers and sat down, before looking up at Harry, with what he hoped was a bland, inquisitive expression. Harry simply smiled, a little more softly this time, and came over to sit next to him.

“Shame about the match. Though you played well. Just the others, screwing it up, really.”

“Thank you.” Draco replied, and nearly kicked himself when he realised he’d almost stuttered it. “I didn’t realise you’d been watching.”

“As if I’d miss it.” Harry said with a smile, and that…it felt very nice.

“I…I don’t quite know what to say to you.” Draco said honestly, and braced himself to be called wuss or something. But Harry just shrugged.

Leaned forward.

Kissed him. His slim, wiry arms curled around Draco’s shoulders, pulling him to lean slightly against Harry’s chest, and his own hands were clutching desperately at the t-shirt that Harry wore, fingers scrabbling to get at the warm skin underneath. He had un-tucked and lifted the shirt enough to get at just the barest teasing strip of skin underneath, when Harry pulled away from the kiss, and looked at him carefully.

Draco wondered what he could possibly have done wrong.

But; “You look good like that.” Was all Harry said, and then he was holding the sides of Draco’s open shirt in both fists so he couldn’t lean away, and bending to kiss Draco’s neck. Gently, almost too lightly at first, then harder, open mouthed kisses, sucking at the skin for the smallest moment before releasing and moving on to a different little patch.

And if Draco was just a little slow in realising that Harry was working his way down, he could surely be forgiven. He loved the slow stroke of that hot tongue over his Adams apple, the soft slurp of lips on his collar bone, and then Harry’s grip on his shirt relaxed just enough for Harry to stretch his thumbs out and lightly stroke the skin in the shallow dips beneath Draco’s pectorals, and Draco froze.

As Harry’s tongue slid across his right nipple.

He hadn’t been far off the mark in wondering if he could come from something like that. Right at that moment, it felt all too close. And his shorts really weren’t cutting the mustard on the whole ‘retaining dignity’ front.

Harry glanced up at his face, and obviously liked whatever he found there, as he grinned lasciviously, and turned his head slightly, his body hunched on the bench, and rubbed the tip of his nose lightly across the width of Draco’s solar plexus, nuzzling a little, until he reached the left one. Again that wet touch of tongue, just below his nipple this time, on the very edge of the gradually darkening pink of the areola, and sliding around and around it, never touching the nipple but feeling so so so good-

And it didn’t just feel good; it looked perfect, Harry’s liver-pink tongue, just the tip poking out from between those sugar-pink lips, shining a little in the low light of the changing rooms as it caressed the puckering skin, and Draco shot what felt like several pints of pre-cum into his freshly donned boxer shorts. 

Then Harry’s lips closed over his nipple, wet and hot, and Draco lost his control. He could barely get a breath enough in, and knew full well he was panting out loud, as Harry’s lips gently suckled at his chest, squeezing and pulling, perfect. 

When the warm mouth lifted away, Draco had to scrunch his eyes shut and try not to whimper, but then it was back, back on the right, sucking lightly again, and it made him realise, with a sweet little shock that made the small of his back break out in cold sweat, how chilly that nipple had been getting, wetted and then abandoned. Harry’s mouth was like a furnace.

There was a slight hardness against the little bud, just briefly, and then again, and then teeth closed on it, just enough to squeeze without hurting, and then gone again, and Draco realised that he was making some strange, high keening noise and gripping Harry’s shoulders in a way that would probably start to hurt him in a few moments. Collecting himself against another brush of teeth, Draco managed to loosen his grip a little, which Harry obviously felt, because after another little glance at Draco’s face he opened his mouth a little wider, sucking the nipple into his mouth down to the areola, stretching the skin almost to the point of pain, and flickering his tongue against the very tip of it.

Draco groaned. His heart was pounding, his skin aching with the need for touch and he was sure he’d never in his life been so close to coming without actually spilling.

Then there was a thump of the door opening from the direction of the entrance, a brief sound of raised voices, and the thump of it closing again. Obviously whoever it was had decided to continue their argument outside rather than enter the changing room, but still. They weren’t exactly private.

Harry sat up, slowly, licking his lips in a way that made Draco want to cry. 

“I think we’d better go.” Harry said quietly. “Maybe save this, ah, location for a day when it isn’t so populated.”

That meant it would happen again. Oddly enough, that notion didn’t upset Draco half as much as he’d expected it to.

“Okay.” He replied, equally softly. Harry leaned in to give him a chaste, closed-mouthed kiss, and got to his feet, straightening his t-shirt where Draco had been pulling on it. He then reached out and tugged the sides of Draco’s shirt together, fastening one button in the middle, and then smoothing his palms lightly down Draco’s chest, making him shiver.

“Have fun getting back to your room.” Harry said with an almost affectionate smirk, and then he was through the door that led to the store room, and gone.

It wasn’t until he was alone that Draco realised what he’d said. He was without trousers, and though the boxers could quite easily pass as athletic shorts, they didn’t do anything to hide his…excitement, especially with the large, clinging wet patch. So he needed to find some trousers or something. His only other option was to wank, but with the risk of being walked in on and the potential for further mess, he didn’t even want to consider it. 

So he Alohamora’d open a couple of the older lockers, the ones that nobody had claimed, and eventually found one with a bundle of wrinkled clothing in the bottom, which included a pair of trousers. They were a tad too big, but luckily Blaise hadn’t made off with his belt, so Draco fastened it tightly around his waist, just as two very grumpy looking younger students stomped in, and started getting ready for what Draco guessed would be a game of muggle tennis or something similar. He got away as fast as possible.

Finally reaching his dorm, he rushed straight to his room, ignoring Pansy and Blaise snogging in the corner and his own trousers in a pile on the sofa. He had to scrabble with the damned trousers to get even the belt undone, and after several eons, he finally got them open, shoved his boxers down, let his still rock-like cock out of its confinement and shoved both hands up under his shirt to touch his nipples.

And came like a fountain.

By the time he recovered, he was kneeling on the floor at the foot of his bed, his breathing still harsh, his body oddly sore and thoughts of those too-little strips of Harry skin he’d gotten to see swimming dizzily in his head.

He went to have a much needed bath.

 

The image of that skin stayed in his mind for days. Oddly enough it wasn’t as arousing a thought as all the rest had been. Though with the extra mental ammo of Harry’s tongue on his nipples meant he was spending as much time ‘thinking’ as before. But the skin…it was compelling.

He had been lying in the bathtub one evening, a week or so after the incident in the changing room (since which he’d had little interaction with Harry beyond quietly exchanged smiles and greeting nods) thinking about the silky soft skin on Harry’s upper arms, when it occurred to him that he had probably bruised that very skin with his grip. And that was when it tipped over into arousing. Draco had jerked himself off so aggressively that he had sloshed most of the contents of the bath out onto the floor, and very nearly hurt his arm.

Oh God! What if he was a sadist? The thing about the hands wasn’t so bad, or the lips. Or even the nipples, as evidenced. But surely that was truly weird. He analysed it, picturing Harry’s skin, bruised with his hand prints, with his teeth marks, nail marks, oh God! 

After wanking again, definitely hurting his arm this time, and emptying another few pints of bathwater onto the floor, he managed to get his head together. There wasn’t anything really wrong with it, was there? Surely it was fairly ordinary to want to mark one’s lover. If that’s what Harry was. And if not, then what the Hell was he? Oh and now he had two things to worry about.

He decided to try not to worry too much. After all, what the hell did he know about sadism? He’d seen the love bites on Blaise’s neck, and on the Weasel (oh look, he’d discovered a good way to get rid of unwanted erections, how handy) so it surely couldn’t be that big a deal. 

With that self-reassurance firmly in mind, he decided to wait for Harry’s next move.

 

It was three days later, during a charms class, that Draco got what he’d been waiting for. He had been one of the first in the classroom, as Professor Flitwick tended to let the NEWTs students go straight in rather than waiting in the corridor, and because the dungeons were a little closer to it than the other dorm rooms. He had seen a few other students enter and settle down, some below and some above him in the stands-style seating, and was beginning to get bored, when Harry walked in, the terrible twosome in tow.

Draco had watched enviously as Harry had found a free row of seats and waved his friends into it, wondering what they had that he didn’t. Oh Hell, was he sleeping with the Weasel? Where had that tongue been before it had been on him? But before he could rush from the classroom and scourgify his chest, Harry turned to look up at him, said something quietly to his friends, and jogged up the few steps to Draco’s row, sliding into the seat beside him.

“Hi,” he said in a hushed tone. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all.” Draco replied, abandoning haughty in favour of trying not to sound too smug.

The lesson began then, and Draco was managing to listen more than not, when he felt a light touch on his leg. So Potter was getting affectionate, eh? Very well, he would allow it. Actually, he was kidding himself if he thought he could turn it away, especially when that light touch became a warm palm, pressed to the middle of his thigh.

He glanced out the corner of his eye at Harry’s face, which was perfectly impassive, bordering on bored, as he gazed blankly down the rows of seats at the little professor at his lectern. Draco wondered if such gestures of affection came so naturally to the boy next to him, that he really thought nothing of it. He had never really seen Harry be very touchy feely, well, besides the recent examples. And with that bloody Chang girl. But aside from that, hardly at all, even with the terrible twosome. Then the hand rubbed up and down lightly, making the skin on his thigh tingle warmly, and he stopped caring, and joined Harry in gazing unseeingly at the lectern.

It was quite surprising, actually, that there were no people staring at them as they sat there. Surely, even in this place and time, it was fairly odd to see two such famous nemeses sitting cordially together, listening to a lesson. But no, as he looked discretely around the class room, he saw nobody looking at them, whispering about them, or anything else. Even Granger had resisted the urge to stick her nose in, which was just as well, he thought, as Harry’s hand eased an inch or so higher up his thigh.

It still wasn’t indecently high, about halfway between knee and groin, but it just felt…suggestive. And that thought was enough to make Draco get hard in charms class. He had no dignity left.

Then it squeezed, which he could have dealt with, if only it hadn’t done it again, immediately after it had released from the first one, and then again, and again, and again. Flexing gently on his thigh, as if massaging the muscle there, making a sweet, hot sensation slide up and down Draco’s leg, from his toes up to his groin, and he was suddenly having difficulty keeping his breathing normal. But he hadn’t spent all those torturous months training as a spy for nothing, and he was confident that, if anyone should look at them, they would notice nothing out of the ordinary. 

Of course, the fact that this sort of thing seemed to be becoming ordinary, was worrying to say the least.

That gentle, cosy, thrilling massage carried on for long minutes as Flitwick droned on, writing squeakily on the chalk board with his wand and wittering on about quizzes or something. His dick, while still hard, was calming down a little, and he was beginning to think that he could get through this without humiliating himself, picking up a new perversion, or actually doing anything worse than having to walk out of the classroom with a hard-on. 

That, of course, was when the hand cupped him. He was dead meat.

It was still doing the squeezy, flexy massaging thing, except now on his cock, fingertips lightly pushing at his balls at every little contraction, and damn but his traitorous tackle was getting all worked up again. He really had absolutely no idea what was going on around him. He was aware of the professor periodically saying something, other voices responding with other things, Granger’s arm rhythmically rising and falling, but none of it made any sense whatsoever, nothing penetrated the haze of oh-hell-yes created by that hand. 

He was on the verge of just resting his forehead on the desk and letting Harry get on with it, when the professor said something else, and the hand squeezed tight and Draco squeaked. That got people looking at them.

“Ah, Mister Malfoy!” Professor Flitwick said cheerily. “Do you know the answer?”

Draco was stumped for a moment, trying to figure out what the words meant. The hand was still moving on him, far more gently than before, but moving all the same. After a small pause, which probably lasted far longer than he thought, he managed to croak out “Could you please repeat the question?”

The professor smiled kindly at him. “Of course. Which of the charms on the board is the odd one out? Quite a stumper this one, eh? I think if you can’t get it, I’ll give up and tell all of you.” He was still beaming broadly, as if this were all a wonderful game. Draco’s brain briefly wondered if Harry had let the teachers in on this plan to drive him nuts, but he squashed it viciously.

“Ah…” He looked at the four charms listed on the board, the letters swimming in front of his eyes for a moment, before starting to make sense. Forcing himself to keep calm, he carefully translated each one. Conjugated the terms used. Visualised using them.

“Ah, is it…the odd one out is the fourth. The rest are sleeping spells, while it is used to move a person from a state of unconsciousness to natural sleep.”

“Very well done!” Professor Flitwick cried excitedly. “Take five points for Slytherin, Mister Malfoy. Now, is there anyone who doesn’t understand that solution, before we move on?”

Draco let the sounds of questions and answers wash over him once again. The hand was still moving, but slower now, the caresses a little firmer and more purposeful. He was vaguely aware, a few minutes later, of Harry answering a question, and he glanced over at him, to find him still affecting a bored expression and staring ahead. Bastard.

Finally, the charmed clock on the wall above the black board sang it’s little ‘four o’clock’ song, and people began gathering up their bags and books. Draco felt exhausted; he wanted to come so very badly, but he knew full well he couldn’t, both because of the location and because Harry didn’t seem to want to let him, and his groin was aching now, and he couldn’t do a damned thing, and in a moment he’d have to get up and walk-

And then his mental whining was interrupted by a change of motion in the hand; squeezing tighter, moving faster and harder, and Draco knew that the motions of Harry’s arm had to be visible above the desk, but still nobody was looking, and it felt so good after all that messing about. He glanced at Harry out the corner of his eye once more, saw him smiling at him, and that was it; he was coming in the charms classroom. It was so powerful it nearly hurt him, and he couldn’t quite keep all the noise in, making a loud, rough noise that Harry, God bless the little shit, covered up for him by saying “Gesundheit.”

By the time he could look up again, most of the class had cleared out, a good sign, as a spectacle like somebody noticeably having an orgasm in the charms classroom would invariably draw a crowd. The hand gently moved back down his leg again, and gave him a companionable squeeze in about the same region that it had first arrived. And with that, Harry got up, picked up his bag, and left the classroom. 

Draco took a minute to collect himself, then slid his text book into his bag, hooked the strap over his shoulder and rose as gracefully as he could to his feet, only to fall straight back into his seat. He collected himself a little more, and finally made it down the aisle and to the front of the classroom and was nearly to the door when Professor Flitwick materialised beside him, and quietly inquired as to his health. 

Was he feeling okay? Yes, of course. Was he aware there was a case of ‘flu going round? No, but he’d keep an eye out for it. He looked awfully dazed; did he need to see Madame Pomfrey? No, he was sure he was alright. Then he was finally out the door, and away from the classroom. Where. He. Came. 

It would probably take a few days to let that sink in.

The corridor was quiet, most of the other students having dispersed to their common rooms for the interval between last class and dinner time, either to do home work or procrastinate. Draco wondered which of the above Harry was doing right then, when a hand reached out from behind a tapestry and grabbed his arm. He went for his wand, but then recognised the battered wristwatch the hand bore, the frayed thread in the buttonhole of the shirt cuff, and allowed Harry to draw him behind the fabric, and into a small alcove, which held a heavy, locked door. There was a little globe of light hanging in the air above their heads, and Draco saw Harry’s impish smile for only a moment, before it was pressed to his own mouth.

He allowed himself to enjoy the kiss for a minute or two, before pulling away, intending to chastise him for putting him through that. Unfortunately, the first thing to come out of his mouth was;

“Are you shagging the Weasel?”

Harry stared at him, wide eyed, for a moment, before he gave a gentle laugh, and put his arms loosely around Draco’s waist. 

“No, I’m not sleeping with Ron, or at least I assume that’s who you mean. And I never have. And I doubt I ever will, given how nasty the wrath of Hermione can be. It’s actually quite rare that I get attracted to anyone enough to make a move.”

With that, Harry put his cheek against Draco’s shoulder, and nuzzled in to kiss his neck, in that tingly spot just beneath his ear. In his addled state, it took Draco a moment to notice that he had just been paid quite a complement, and even longer to notice that he had his arms around Harry’s shoulders again.

He was trying to think of something nice to say in return, when the tapestry suddenly whipped to one side, revealing Granger, clutching a rumpled piece of parchment in one hand and looking triumphant. The look lasted all of two seconds, until she took in the sight in front of her, and her face went blank. Draco wondered if Harry had ever talked to either of them about…this. He wondered just how bad the wrath of Hermione was.

And suddenly, the whole situation became exponentially worse when a voice yelled down the corridor “Hey, did you find them?” Granger nodded weakly, and Draco found he couldn’t move at all, so when the Weasel’s ginger head popped into view, he still had his arms wrapped round Harry, and Harry’s face still nuzzled into his neck.

Weasley gawped for a moment, and then said “Hey, you-“

“Ron?” Harry said dopily, lifting his head. “When did you get here?” Weasley looked from one of them to the other, rapidly, his gaze finally settling on Harry, of whom he demanded;

“What the Hell did he do to you?” Red face and orange hair was not an attractive combination. 

Harry snorted. “Nothing. Well, not really. Not what you’re thinking, anyway.”

Granger’s face finally unfroze, and formed into a rather pleasant, if decidedly wicked, smile, and she grabbed her boyfriend’s arm and allowed the tapestry to drop back into place.

“But-“ came Weasley’s voice, cut off abruptly, and then there were only the sounds of feet retreating down the corridor.

“That was interesting.” Harry said, dryly, and he went back to kissing Draco, slow and deep, and Draco didn’t have enough presence of mind left to verbalise his disagreement.

It wasn’t until he got back to his room that night, lips chafed from kissing and feeling vaguely unsatisfied that Harry’s ‘nothing really’ comment to Weasley still stood, that he realised how misplaced all his fears of the previous days had been. 

Screw nail marks. Harry was a sadistic little bastard.

 

Draco still wasn’t sure what precisely was happening between them. Going from enemies to allies was confusing enough. Going from allies to, what? Boyfriends? How dreadful. It was very odd.

Still, there was something pleasant about the little wordless thoughts that travelled through his mind when he saw Harry doing something impressive in classes or on the Quidditch field, when he and the Weasel managed to break up a nasty fight in the entrance hall, or he had a cheerful conversation with one of the merpeople oblivious to the crowd of rubbernecking first years admiring him. The thoughts were warming and rather possessive, and a part of Draco was pleased beyond measure that such an instinct existed in him. To say nothing about whom it was aimed at.

Draco was fairly sure that they weren’t ‘out’, as it were, though obviously the terrible twosome knew. The Weasel had only risked getting near to him once since the incident in the alcove, and that was only to scowl, attempt to threaten him, then blush and stomp off again. Aside from that, nobody seemed to know, or even notice that they’d taken to being around each other. 

Not that they overtly went places together, but Harry would turn up in the library a few minutes after Draco had and sit at another table so they were back to back while they chatted quietly. Draco would sit idly in the stands on the Quidditch pitch, broom leaning against the seat next to him, idly casting half-glares at the Gryffindor team as they practised manoeuvres and raced each other, waiting for them to finish, so he and Harry could chase around the pitch together.

In fact, that was when he started to notice the boy for real. He had realised quite some time ago, when Harry had started shedding his childish lankiness and filling out, that he was quite attractive. Seeing him up there though, cutting easily through the air, quick and graceful, made him notice how…desirable Harry had become. He could have sat there and watched all day, just seeing the movements of the other boy’s limbs, the smooth arch of his back as he hunched over the stick, the way his hands arced and swept through the air as he reached for his target. Draco wondered how he’d ever managed to play a match all the way through without glazing over watching his opponent.

One day, when he was sitting out there watching, the sun shining brightly and the team milling about in the air after a tiring practice, Harry somehow managed to set himself up to look…perfect. He was just close enough to Draco so that he could make out his features, but not quite so close he could see his expression. The wind blew his hair into spikes and tufts and the light filtering through it turned it all shades of blue and violet. He looked positively angelic. And thus, Draco got a hard on sitting in the Quidditch stands.

After the practise he was still afflicted, and felt awkward about asking Harry for help, so he begged off their usual fly around and fled back to his room. To think. About Harry. So he was a, whatsit, voyeur? Well, he’d certainly enjoyed watching his not-quite-boyfriend fly, on every level. Did that make him sick or something? He seriously hoped not. He’d calmed down about the whole secret perversions business after the incident in the classroom, but still, that was kind of a big one to deal with.

It was going to take a great deal of, ah, thinking.

 

It was a couple of days later, and he had apologised to Harry for running off, and their subsequent snogging session saved him from having to come up with an excuse better than ‘I threw a rod watching you fly and panicked’.

The Slytherin team, if it could be called such a thing, was practising later that afternoon, but unfortunately, Harry could not come and watch them, as they (or more precisely, Pansy) had put a ban on spectators, in order to prevent loss of secrets (or more precisely, loss of dignity). Draco couldn’t quite manage to put into words the fact that he was sorry about this; he had been wondering if Harry would even have wanted to come, but when he falteringly (cryptically) asked, Harry just smiled serenely at him and kissed him until it was time for him to set off for the pitch.

In the five minutes that he was late, Pansy had managed to brain their second year keeper with a beater’s bat, Terrence was lying on the front row of benches clutching one of Madame Pince’s ever-frozen ice packs to his groin, and somebody had irretrievably planted their broom, tail up, in the ground. He began to feel that he should have stayed with Harry.

After two hours, five more minor injuries, three trips to the store shed for fresh brooms and more creative language than Draco had ever had any desire to hear, they finally got off the damned pitch and into the changing rooms. Pansy had stormed off in a huff about half way through the practice, after becoming briefly wedged in one of the goal hoops, and Blaise had left it until now to follow her, undoubtedly to discuss one of their now-legendary rifts.

So once again, it was just Terrence and Draco left in the changing room and, while Draco was muttering irritably to himself in the shower, it became just him. He was vaguely aware of the emptiness of the room behind him, and relaxed a little, the thought that had been nudging at his mind insinuating itself fully into his consciousness; did he remember what had happened the last time he’d been in here on his own? Of course he did, he had been waiting for privacy so he could contemplate it properly, i.e. he could have a ‘think’ about it. 

Feeling himself gradually grow hard, he slid the fingertips of both hands down the sensitive skin on his flanks, over the front of his thighs and down between his legs to caress the skin there. He cupped and gently squeezed his balls in one hand, slowly pressing them together over and over, while with his free hand he reached up and twisted the shower head to spray against his chest, the mild prickle of water hardening his nipples as if it were ice.

“I always wondered what exactly you liked.” Came Harry’s voice from behind him, and he let go of himself immediately, whirling around to look at him, then whirling back to conceal himself. He turned just his head around to get a glimpse of Harry. The other boy stood next to one of the benches in the middle of the room, his haphazardly folded robes and another, rather larger bundle of some odd fabric, lying on its seat. As Draco watched, he kicked off his shoes, pulled off his tie and, in an enviable feat of dexterity, toed off both of his socks.

This was a fairly shocking development. Harry could see him naked. Harry was, in fact, actively looking at him. Naked. Specifically, at his bum, which felt like it had suddenly expanded to take up most of the room, an utterly ridiculous, embarrassing, intriguing sensation. It occurred to him very suddenly that, surely, it was only right for sort-of-boyfriends to have an interest in one another’s bums, and he had a brief moment to regret having never really gotten a good look at Harry’s, when, with an impressively speedy whoosh of fabric, Harry was naked in front of him, and even though Draco couldn’t see his bum from that angle, the view was none the less enjoyable.

“How long have you been there?” Was all he managed to get out, as Harry stepped up to the shallow ridge of the shower area, the water misting over his spring-pale skin and making it sparkle. 

“I came in when that other lad was leaving. Watched for a while. You’re gorgeous.” Draco was taken aback for a moment, and then slowly turned around, letting his sort-of-boyfriend-but-take-away-the-‘sort-of’ look at all of him. He was still hard, Harry was too, and he wondered for a moment what it would feel like to embrace him like that, and then his hands were reaching out, grasping Harry’s shoulders and drawing him forward, under the cascade of water. Looking was all well and good, but touch was so much better.

Harry reached around Draco’s waist, holding him loosely as they kissed, and Draco gasped into Harry’s mouth as their cocks pressed together. Harry pulled back a little and smiled at him, almost sultry, his eyes dark through the screen of his glasses, and Draco wondered what spells he’d used on the glass to make them resistant to the water as well as pretty much everything else; he’d seen the things get stamped on before.

Then Harry pulled a hand away from Draco’s back, and Draco felt him reach for the shower controls, the jet of water becoming a little hotter, and then changing to a fine mist that tickled the small of his back. Harry drew back a little, his hands sliding off Draco’s hips. He stepped back out of the shower and reached for the wand that lay on top of the pile of clothes he had shed. Pointing it at the partition between the shower cubicles, he murmured something quietly, and gave Draco an impish smile as the barrier disappeared.

“Lie down.” He said, his tone of voice making it sound like a suggestion rather than an order, but he must have had no doubt that Draco would do what he said. Draco sat down on the floor of the shower, and then lowered himself onto his back on his elbows, stretching his legs into the next stall, feeling extraordinarily naked. The water fell onto his skin pleasantly, gathering in little pools in the hollows of his body, and as Harry walked towards him, it occurred to him with almost frightening clarity that, no matter what had come before, they were about to have sex. 

Not groping, not kisses, not games, no matter how nice all that had been; sex. That thought in mind, Draco felt the need to be a little less submissive and shifted his body. He knew he was attractive, and despite his lack of opportunities to gauge people’s reactions to him naked, he knew how to make the best of his body, and as he settled into a languid, stretched out position on tiles that were nowhere near as uncomfortable as they should have been, he watched his lover’s eyes and saw them glitter. Sex. Definitely.

Harry stood at his feet for a few moments, just gazing down at him, his hair getting damp and slicking itself to his head as his eyes roved up and down Draco’s body. Finally, he simply whispered “God” in a voice that made Draco shiver, and lowered himself down to lie beside him, on his side with his arm across Draco’s chest, his calf lying between Draco’s. Kissing in the soft fall of hot water was dreamily sensual, and Draco let himself relax to the point that he felt like he was going to wash away down the drain without Harry there to keep him in place.

Without breaking the kiss, Harry slid his hand down Draco’s chest, rubbing the skin and muscle lightly with his fingertips, tenderly plucking at his nipples and making them ache, and then the hand slid down his belly and clasped around his naked cock. It was heavenly; warm, moist flesh, the tightness of the grip perfect, the slow slow movements up and down his shaft both teasing and infinitely satisfying. He moaned into Harry’s mouth and felt the smile against his lips.

Just as Draco was starting to lose it, the hand eased off, and slipped down, cupping and rubbing his balls, like he had been doing when Harry turned up. Harry’s upper body shifted, and a glance showed Draco that his lover had propped himself up on his elbow and was looking at him again, his eyes almost entirely black.

“Okay?” Harry whispered. Draco nodded as well as he could with the back of his head resting on the tiles, knowing full well that he was wearing a terribly goofy smile. Harry’s fingers, although no longer on his cock, were wonderful; just the right pressure, just the right grip and angle. And then one finger slid down a little, to that quivery little patch beneath his balls, and he let out a yip. Harry’s smile at that was radiant.

“Nice?” he asked. Draco nodded again, letting his eyes slide closed, as another fingertip travelled downwards and began to rub in smooth little strokes, up and down. The muscles in his thighs felt shaky and he wondered briefly if they were visibly trembling, before Harry shifted again, and gently bit him on the hip. The next touch from his mouth was on his navel, a soft kiss there, before that wonderful warm tongue slipped into the little indent, and Draco would have squirmed from that, if Harry hadn’t chosen that moment to press his fingers to a certain spot between his legs that made Draco’s eyes roll back and his thighs fall open, shaking even more.

He moaned when the hand withdrew from his groin, but then it was cupped under his knee, lifting it until his foot was flat on the floor, his knee up in the air, and Harry snaked his hand under Draco’s leg and reached up to curl his fingers back around his cock. He could feel Harry’s damp hair against the top of his thigh, the soft skin of his upper arm on the underside, and he managed to get his eyes open and take a look at that wonderful sight, just in time for them to snap shut again and roll back in his head, as Harry leaned forward to lick the head of his cock. Draco knew he was moaning out loud now, and he really couldn’t give a good God damn.

He had never really had a real blow job before, just a few messy slurps from Pansy to get him hard that one time (and really, shouldn’t that have told them both something?) and he suddenly understood all the fuss. It felt so utterly, unbelievably perfect, warm lips, ever so slightly chapped, but softly yielding, pressed around the ridge of the glans, hot tongue flickering sweetly at the tip, and that cosy, tight hand sliding easily on his wet skin. It felt like he was going to die.

Harry’s lips pulled away briefly, and Draco got the impression he was being looked at, and made the effort to open his bleary eyes. Harry squeezed his leg between his neck and elbow, an oddly soothing gesture, and then lowered his head again, taking about an inch more this time, making Draco gasp. After that, it seemed a case of just going along for the ride while Harry gradually worked his way down, breathing through his nose so loudly that Draco could hear it over his own racket. In the few glimpses he managed to get of Harry, his lover’s eyes were half shut, his cheeks slightly hollowed with suction, rubbing the flat palm of his free hand lazily over his own cock, and the sight made Draco’s stomach clench.

As Harry’s lips worked their way down, his hand gradually slid off, moving back over Draco’s tight, tingling balls and down between his legs. And finally, when he was entirely encased in his lover’s hot mouth and those fingertips began that same deep rubbing motion, Draco lost all ability to make sound. 

He regained it, suddenly and quite spectacularly, when that mouth pulled back up the length of his cock, sucking hard all the way, and then eased back down again. The sound of his yell was still echoing off the walls when Harry did it again, this time with a little twist of his fingers on that spot, and a burning splash of pleasure washed through Draco’s belly, making him whimper pathetically. 

Another few of those and Draco could feel his orgasm building, ready to break through him, and wondered in a little detached place in the back of his mind how he had managed to hold it off so long. Then Harry’s finger swept further down, sliding along the crack of his backside until it touched a spot that seemed so perfectly, magnificently vulnerable it made Draco want to cry, at the same time that the other fingers did that little pressing twist again, and the mouth plunged down, and that was it. Orgasm was no longer building, it was fully constructed, making him buck against the hard tiles and wail nonsense into the echoing room. 

It took him several minutes before he could breathe properly again, more before he managed to lift his head and look at Harry. Smug was the first word that came to his mind then. Smug and ruffled, smiling at Draco with moist red lips, hard cock lying against his belly.

“Good?”

“You can’t guess? Good God, you must be daft, man.”

“Perhaps I'm just fishing for complements.” Harry said, as Draco lay back again and closed his eyes. He was just a bit too disorientated yet to reciprocate, and as it didn’t seem that Harry would disappear this time, he felt he could allow himself a minute or two to recover his poise. “Really now?” He responded. “Did you lock the door?”

“After what happened last time? Of course. The first thing I did, in fact. Well, after checking out your naked bum.” Draco snorted out a hoarse laugh.

“Seriously though,” Harry continued in a tragic tone, sounding like he was moving about. “I'm terribly low on self esteem. I need all the assurance I can get.” His tone of voice told Draco he was joking, at least partly.

Draco’s legs were still spread out on the floor, and if he had seen himself, he would have been appalled about how dreadfully cheap it made him look, he was sure, but as he felt Harry kneel between his thighs, he really couldn’t bring himself to care. He opened his eyes to find Harry’s face a few inches above his own, his face haloed by the glimmering fall of water, practically lying on top of Draco, propped on his tensed arms. He looked beautiful, shiny skin and slender muscle and bright, dark eyes.

“Well,” Draco said, his voice coming out quieter than expected, “I can say without hesitation that that was the best sexual experience I’ve ever had with you.” 

That got him a little smile, warm with an edge of mischief.

“Or in a shower.”

The smile got a little wider.

“Or with anyone, actually.” He admitted.

That got him kissed, as Harry lowered his bony, heavy body down on top of him, and Draco didn’t care that it was hurting his pelvis, or that the water trapped between his back and the floor was becoming unpleasantly cool, because he could feel the stunning heat of Harry’s genetalia pressed against his skin and Harry’s hard nipples against his chest. He raised his arms, and slid his hands up and down his lover’s back, rubbing circles into the flesh beneath his shoulder blades, and adventurously cupping his buttocks, which got him a delightful little sound, breathed right into his mouth.

The first time Harry thrust against his stomach, Draco wondered for an instant if he had done something wrong, before Harry started humping against him in earnest, and Draco looked up into those wide green eyes, and saw an almost vicious gleam of lust there, layered over and around with something he couldn’t fathom. After a minute or two, Harry raised himself up on his arms again, pumping his hips a little harder, a little faster, his eyes going hazy, and Draco, feeling vaguely useless, reached up and slid his palms down his lover’s chest, rubbing his nipples with the heels of his hands. Harry groaned and tipped his head back, thrusting his chest out.

It was exhilarating.

He slid his hands down a little further, pinching carefully at the hard little buds, trying to emulate what Harry had done to him, and getting a lower, rougher moan for his trouble, followed by a loud cry of ‘ah!’ when he raised his legs, squeezing his thighs around Harry’s hips, and Harry’s cock slipped easily down to a better spot in the inner curve of Draco’s thigh, chafing against his own nads almost painfully. 

The warm water still pattered over them, and Draco reached one hand up to scoop Harry’s dripping hair back off his face, and Harry’s dark eyes rolled down to look at him, deep and severe with passion. Gradually, never stopping or slowing in his motions, he lowered himself back on top of Draco, then took hold of the hand still buried in his hair by the wrist and pushed it gently to the floor by Draco’s head, holding it there loosely. 

A little twist of Harry’s hips, which wasn’t quite enough to get Draco hard again but got the blood flowing in the right direction, seemed to communicate directly to a certain part of Draco’s brain, that took charge of lifting his feet off the floor and wrapping both legs around Harry’s hips, so tight he could feel the contours of his pelvis, the rocking lunging movements of it, perfectly.

Harry came with a rough gasp, followed by a low moan that rumbled like thunder on the horizon, his eyes gazing deeply into Draco’s all the time, until the hot messy-feeling liquid had spread so far across his belly that it was dripping sluggishly off his sides, and the hand gripping his wrist let go. After a minute of very deep, almost wheezy breathing, Harry lifted his head, and gave him a silly smile, delightfully at odds with the intensity of moments ago.

“Ditto.” Harry said, and it took Draco a moment to work out what he meant.

Harry rolled off him to one side, and lay there, his back shielding Draco from some of the water spray, staring happily at Draco’s face as his hand rubbed soothingly across his tummy. It was wonderful, that languid sensation of satiation, the pleasure of Harry’s presence at his side. He still felt rather like he hadn’t really done anything, but Harry seemed happy, and Draco supposed that there were many different types of people in the world, some of whom must simply enjoy humping somebody who was lying on the floor and petting them. 

It took a minute, and several little nicks from blunt fingernails, for Draco to realise that Harry was rubbing the semen into the skin of his belly, those smooth, easy motions massaging it into his skin like a lotion. He would probably smell like it for ages, even if he bathed. He looked up at Harry’s smiling face, and decided that there were worse fates.

When Harry finally deigned to let him up off the floor, they turned to the showers and, by mutual decision, each took a separate spray-head to rinse off under, Draco trying not to let too much water run over his sticky belly. Without bothering to try and get any cleaner, they turned off the showers and Draco watched Harry restore the wall, before they walked side by side into the main part of the room, dried each other off with their towels. 

Harry seemed to take great pleasure rubbing his rather rough Gryffindor-red towel through Draco’s hair, while Draco urged Harry to put his feet, one after the other, up onto the bench on which Draco sat, so he could dry between his toes. After dressing, grudgingly, they shared a last kiss, before Harry opened the door with the distinct soft pop of a silencing spell being unravelled. He left first, the odd looking piece of fabric draped over his arm, and Draco waited a moment longer before leaving too. He sorely needed to get back to his room and see how strong the smell was.

 

It was three days later, and Draco’s body still felt…fizzy. Tingly. Good. The semen scent had worn off, but he still fancied that he could smell it at times, or perhaps he just had the scent too well memorised. He felt sure he would never forget it.

The only problem now was, surely if he was worried about his sexual proclivities, he should tell Harry. Let the boy know what he was getting into. But then, Harry already seemed to know. It was a knotty problem, certainly. He had grown very fond of Harry over these past few weeks, perhaps longer than that if he was entirely honest, and he truly didn’t want to give him any reason to leave. 

Actually though, that wasn’t the only problem. Draco had heard it said that, once you had lost your virginity, you would find you libido getting more insistent, your body craving sex more than before. After Pansy, it hadn’t happened, and Draco had thought that perhaps he had been immune. Now, however, he couldn’t stop thinking about sex. It was constant, all day, every day, in his thoughts, in his dreams, in the songs he heard and the books he read. He needed more. 

Or perhaps he just needed therapy? 

He decided he’d explore the ‘more’ option first, extensively, just to rule it out. If Harry consented, that was.

And no reason why he shouldn’t, surely. He’d enjoyed it the other day, he’d said as much. And yet, the worries remained, lingering in Draco’s mind, even more invasive than the scent of come. Was he any good at it? Could he keep up with Harry? Could Harry keep up with him, if his weird kinks kept coming? (Heh, coming, his brain said) It was all very troubling. With most of his problems, he would ship himself off to Professor Snape’s office and discuss it with him. On this occasion, however, he rather thought that his beloved teacher’s brain would cease to function at the announcement.

He was lying in bed, or rather on the bed, as he had just come back from taking his bath and was still dressed in his bath robe and was reading, or rather looking in the direction of the book he was holding, while he considered the matter. He had seen Harry in the hall at dinner that evening and their eyes had met, smiling at each other across the room. It was nice, a word that Draco usually abhorred, but really, there was no word better suited to describe the continuing feeling of low level happiness, boosted occasionally by joy and anticipation at seeing his lover. Very, very nice.

After an hour or so of completely failing to read, he put the book down on the night table and slid off his bed to shed his bath robe and put on his pyjamas, when an odd noise made him turn. A sort of soft breath sound, and a rustle. Turning slowly, he scanned around the room, glancing over at the bedside table where his wand lay, and judging the distance to it.   
His fears were assuaged, however, when Harry appeared in the middle of his room, stepping out of nowhere, that large bolt of strange fabric falling to the floor around his feet. Invisibility cloak; that explained a hell of a lot.

“Evening,” Harry said, beaming, innocently. “Hope you don’t mind.” He waved a hand at the pile of fabric on the floor. He was in bits of his school uniform, just the trousers and shirt really. With the big glasses and the messy hair, it looked rather sweet.

“Not at all.” Draco replied. “Though I feel I must ask what exactly you are doing here?” As he spoke, Harry moved across the room and looped his arms around Draco’s waist. 

“Just thought I’d test out my dexterity by sneaking in here. Not got to let myself get rusty. Are you naked under there?”

“You are truly gifted in the field of non sequiteur. And yes, actually.”

“Oh good,” Harry replied, and pulled the knot out of the sash on the robe, sliding his hands inside it and pulling Draco to him for a kiss. Draco tried for a moment to get a hand between them to undo Harry’s shirt, but after a short time, it seemed so much better to put both his arms around Harry’s neck, and so Harry remained clothed, while Draco’s robe crept further and further open, until his chest and stomach and very happy cock were pressing skin to fabric against his lover.

After a little while, though, he got sick of the passivity and groped behind him for the table and his wand, eventually closing his fingers on it. “Wha’” Harry murmured as he broke the kiss, and Draco took a moment to study his endearingly slack face before saying the spell that caused Harry’s clothes to peel back from his body and drop to the floor.

“Great.” Harry responded, and squeezed Draco to him again, making him gasp at the press of his erection into warm flesh, and began awkwardly walking them back towards the bed. 

When Draco’s calves touched the edge of the mattress he staggered slightly, then sat and let go of Harry for long enough to scoot back up the bed, and across, giving his lover room to lie beside him. They regarded each other for a moment, then both rolled towards each other, holding and kissing for long dreamy minutes.

The skin in the small of Harry’s back was thinner than that in the crease between his buttock and thigh, somewhat less lush, but it was also a great deal smoother, softer and Draco, unable to make his mind up, planted one hand firmly in each location and relaxed into the heady pleasantness of a mutual grope. 

Harry himself had one hand woven firmly into Draco’s hair, the other cupped around his buttock, massaging, fingertips creeping slowly towards…towards-

Even though he’d been expecting it, Draco still let out a rather less than manly-sounding yelp when the pad of Harry’s finger touched the small sensitive hole, but he didn’t pull away, and after studying his face for a moment, Harry said “Okay with that?”

Draco considered it for a moment, then nodded.

“Okay with more, maybe?”

“Perhaps.”

“Slow?”

“Yes.”

Harry leaned in and kissed him again, snugging his whole body up close to Draco’s, the hand in his hair sliding down to wrap around his shoulders, holding him tight. The fingertip stayed where it was, and gradually it became less intrusive, even comfortable there. He squeezed his hand around Harry’s thigh, encouragingly, though he didn’t know quite what he was trying to encourage. Harry obviously had some idea though, as he slid his leg forward, sliding his sweat-sheened thigh between Draco’s legs, and then upwards, the warmth of his skin touching Draco’s balls as the width of his thigh spread Draco’s legs a little further apart. 

Harry pulled back a little, again, to look at his face and offer him a soothing smile, then nuzzled his face into Draco’s neck and began to slowly stroke his finger up and down the crack of Draco’s arse, rubbing over the little puckered hole over and over and over-

Draco whimpered and turned his head to press his nose into Harry’s thick hair as it slid inside. The sensation was strange, hot and achy and just on the edge of being truly painful in a way that made him want more. Harry kept on dropping gentle little kisses all over his face and mouth, and he made himself relax into it, making the movements of that one finger a little easier.

“Okay?” Harry asked again.

“Yes.” Replied Draco, momentarily astonished at how husky his voice sounded. “I…I think it would go easier with-“ and almost as soon as he completed the thought, Harry whispered a spell against his cheek, and the finger was joined by a wash of warm, slippery liquid, soothing and pleasant.

“Something like that?”

“Yes. Thanks.” Draco replied, and had a moment to wonder if Harry would go any further, before another finger slid gently inside him, and the two twisted slightly, making him flinch with a little shock of unquantifiable sensation. Another little push inside, and then the fingers were withdrawn, and Draco had a few seconds to miss the sensation, before Harry urged him over onto his back, knelt between his legs, slid both fingers back in, and leaned forward to start kissing his way around Draco’s neck.

Draco felt he could become used to the whole lying-on-his-back-and-being-mercilessly-shagged idea. Harry’s lips were firm and sweet, claiming his skin and making it hard to breathe. The fingers rooting inside him were surprisingly comfortable, warm and wet and moving smoothly. He could feel Harry’s erection pressed against the inside of his thigh, and once again shifted his legs to try and hold Harry to him with them, making his lover huff happily against his collar bone. 

Then Harry pushed a little harder with his fingers, at the same time that he brushed his thumb against that spot behind his balls, and before his brain even managed to register the feeling as pleasure, Draco’s eyes were rolled back in his head, and he was panting desperately for breath.

“Good?” Harry asked, and Draco could tell from the tone that he was smiling that shit-eating grin. 

“D’t ag’n.” was all he managed to say, but luckily Harry managed to translate it, and eased another finger inside him, before touching that little spot once again.

“Ready for a little more?” Harry whispered into his ear, and Draco managed to turn his head and look into Harry’s eyes, seeing that same tangled look of lust. He nodded.

Harry shifted, lying with his full weight on top of Draco, pressed groin to groin and chest to chest, until he was staring straight into Draco’s eyes. 

“You sure? Because I mean it.”

Draco’s mind let that statement swim around for a moment, and he felt himself smiling broadly. Raising his head and shoulders a little, he craned his neck and very gently licked the thin sheen of sweat off Harry’s upper lip. “I’m sure.” He replied, and felt Harry’s hand slide down between them, as he lifted himself above Draco on one sturdy arm. Draco felt a twinge of nerves, but it faded away completely as that warm hand stroked smoothly over his thigh, sliding under his buttock, soothing him with small, affectionate touches. 

Then Harry was pressing closer, pressing in, and it hurt, and it hurt, but…somehow that was better than it should have been. Better than he expected with that little sharp burn of pain, to offset the pleasure when his lover was inside him completely, and he suddenly seemed aware of every taught nerve in his body, every contour of Harry’s skin, and Harry let out a whooshing breath against the side of Draco’s neck where he had tucked his head, and told him;

“Bloody perfect.”

And as Harry began to move, Draco felt he had to agree, because that little spot inside him was really enjoying the attention, and it seemed like it took seconds flat before he was gasping for breath and desperate to come. Harry was pressed fully against him again, one hand holding onto Draco’s hip, the other gripping his forearm, pressing it to the bed, and Draco wrapped his free arm around his lover and hung on.

Harry obviously took this as a prompt, because he started to move a little faster, push a little harder, like that time in the showers, and Harry’s hand slid around his hip, fingertips stroking the head of his cock, and that was it, that was enough. He was coming, his vision whiting out, his whole body clenching around Harry’s, and just before he lost it completely, he heard Harry cry out, felt him shaking and knew he’d come as well. Then there wasn’t much he could do but close his eyes and sink into the mattress.

 

When Draco came to some indeterminable time later, he was a mess. His freshly washed hair was in a tangle on the pillows, his skin was marked with shallow yellow bruises and light scratches and he could feel a spreading patch of sticky, wet warmth between his legs. Harry was lounging beside him, hand spread on Draco’s chest and a big grin on his face.

Draco opened his mouth to say something profound and cool, but unfortunately the best he could manage was “Wz vree good.”

“Yeah, it was.” Harry agreed, serenely, and leaned down to kiss him. As he sat back up, Draco noticed something on his ribs, and reached out to grab Harry’s wrist without even thinking about it, pulling it away from Harry’s body. There were little red marks on the side of Harry’s chest, small oval spots which, when he put his hand over them, fitted Draco’s fingertips perfectly. 

Within seconds, he was well back on his way to getting hard. 

“Uh, you okay?” Harry asked. Thankfully, he was looking at Draco’s face, not anywhere else. Draco felt he really didn’t need Harry looking at his dick while he was trying to speak.

“Ah, I think I should warn you of a few things.”

Harry tensed, only slightly, and cocked his head. “What sort of things?” he asked softly.

“I have, ah, unusual…things. Sexually.”

“Well you seem to fancy me, so that must be pretty weird.” Harry said grinning, and Draco decided that if Harry hadn’t run off screaming in the next ten minutes, he’d really have to make him work on the whole self-deprecating bit. 

“No, I mean…kinks. Like your hands.” Harry glanced down at his own hand, spread on Draco’s chest.

“You like my hands? Nice.” He said happily, and Draco felt that he simply wasn’t getting the gravity of the situation.

“And your mouth. And you…you looking at me. And the way you held my arm down.” That last one was kind of off the cuff, but no less true for it.

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Are all of these general, or just me-centric?”

“To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure. It was you that set them off, though.”

“Cool.” Said Harry, and that seemed to be the end to that discussion, to Draco’s relief, because Harry was kissing him again, touching him, and after a while they were both good for another go. Harry climbed on top of Draco and sat on his cock, and he was much better at the whole wiggling around and squeaking thing than Pansy could ever hope to be. And all the while he held Draco’s wrists very firmly to the mattress.

In the end, Draco supposed, as he lay in bed next to Harry’s peacefully sleeping form, studying the small red bruises on his wrists in the low light, it wasn’t so bad to be a little kinky. As long as one had somebody to be kinky with.

And surely there were none better suited than Harry.


End file.
